The Law of Balance
by terrapintarts
Summary: "It is important to strive for balance in all aspects of your lives." That's the lesson Splinter would teach. What does it mean for the turtles? No sugar for Mike! No caffeine for Don! No TRAINING for Leo! And poor Raph... This week is going to be hell.
1. Chapter 1

_This story was written Round Robin style by (Terrapin Tarts) Winnychan, DeeMG, KameTerra, and Tori Angeli. It was a blast to write. It's 100% complete. I'll be posting new chapters at regular intervals, so stay tuned!_

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* * *

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"Kneel," Splinter commanded, and his sons took their positions in front of him on the mat. It was the typical start for a group training session, taking a moment to clear their minds and focus their energies before Splinter explained the details of the day's training exercise, but the rat suspected that what he had to say now would not have the usual effect.

In fact, he planned on it.

"Before we begin our training exercises," he began, "I wish to speak with you about balance." He eyed all of them for a moment. "You know well the importance of _physical_ balance, but it is important to strive for balance in all aspects of your lives. One of the most valuable skills in accomplishing this is the ability to recognize when you are _off_ balance." He paused. "However, learning this skill is not the object of what I have in mind today. That is something that will take many years to learn, and will only come with practice and self-discipline. Instead, you will be given the opportunity to practice finding the balance point in an area I have selected." He looked around at them again. "Much like when you are having difficulty hitting the center of a target, it is often helpful to first become familiar with both extremes. If you never do this, how can you hope to know where the middle is?"

It was obviously a rhetorical question, and his sons remained quiet, although Michelangelo was clearly growing restless.

Foregoing any further explanation, Splinter jumped right in to the individual instructions. "Donatello," he said, choosing the name closest to the front of the alphabet to start with. The turtle's head snapped up in surprise. "For the next seven days, you are to stop consuming caffeine. It is important to allow your body to recall what it is like to function without… chemical interference."

"Fantastic," Donatello intoned flatly with a notable lack of enthusiasm. He shot a glare over his shoulder towards his brothers who were varied in their displays of amusement. Leonardo was the worst, however. Silent and decidedly smug - he had been harping on Donatello's caffeine dependency for some time. "I can't wait to hear how the rest of you are getting 'balanced'," he added tartly, which was threat enough to silence the sniggering from Michelangelo and return everyone's attention to their looming _sensei_.

"Indeed." The old rat cleared his throat and regarded the turtles with an even stare they all found quite intimidating. Even Leonardo, who was quite convinced of his own inner balance, swallowed nervously. "Michelangelo, in turn you are forbidden processed foods - processed sugars in particular. For seven days, you will eat nothing but whole, raw foods. Do you understand me?"

"Uh," Michelangelo tugged at his bandanna tails uncertainly. "Not exactly."

"Leonardo, you understand and will assist him in this?"

"Gladly, _sensei_," Leonardo agreed without hesitation.

"Man. That's way worse than no caffeine," Don commented with a grin.

"Let's see if you're saying that tomorrow morning," Raphael shot back under his breath.

"Raphael!"

"Yeah, Master Splinter?" Raphael wasn't really nervous. He didn't care so much about what he ate or drank. It was all fuel to him.

"You rely too heavily on adrenaline and physical combat. You pay little heed to the higher forms of expression."

Raphael shifted uncomfortably. "Whassat supposed to mean?"

Master Splinter cocked his head cleverly. "For seven days, instead of physical training, you will join me for lessons in painting, music, and dance."

"DANCE?" Raph was furious. "You gotta be kiddin' me!"

"I am not "kidding you". Three days of painting, two days of music, and only two days of dance, if it offends your sense of masculinity so."

"Come on, Raph," Leonardo was snickering behind one hand. "You're sure-footed, you've got stamina... I'll bet you're a lovely dancer!"

"Leonardo!"

Leonardo stopped laughing immediately. His posture went straight as a board. "_Hai_, _sensei!_"

"You work hard at your training. Perhaps you work too hard. For the next seven days, instead of physical training... you will do nothing."

Leonardo stared at his master. Silence filled the dojo.

Finally Leo's voice lifted, faltering with uncertainty. "N-nothing, _sensei?_ I don't understa-"

"Nothing!" the rat asserted with a snap. "You will use this time to relax. You will pass the time enjoying yourself in ways that are entirely non-productive. This means no meditation. No training. The dojo is _entirely_ forbidden to you. You may choose to read during this time-" Leonardo seemed to light up at this suggestion, but made a face as his master went on to clarify, "-but only so long as the material is fiction. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, _sensei_," Leonardo agreed glumly.

It was going to be a long week for all of them.

* * *

"This is such _B.S.!_" Raphael hissed in a near-whisper as he rummaged through the kitchen cabinets later, after morning practice. "How'm I supposed to kick butt, if I'm spendin' time doin' useless, stupid, _bullshit_ stuff like dancing?"

"Language, Raph," Leonardo admonished reflexively. He pulled two boxes of cereal out of the cabinets and frowned at them. "Good grief, look at the amount of sugar in one serving of this! Don't we have any plain oatmeal or something actually healthy for him to eat?"

"Leo, what are you doing?" Donatello said sharply as he came around the corner and stepped into the kitchen. "I _distinctly_ heard Master Splinter say that you were not to do anything productive for the next seven days."

"He also told me to 'help' Michelangelo eat only whole, unprocessed foods for that same amount of time," Leonardo responded tartly. "And that will require at least a minimal amount of work on my part." He sounded almost pleased by this idea.

Raphael grinned over his shoulder. "What'sa matter, Don? Feelin' that caffeine monkey on your back already?"

Donatello made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl.

"Come to think of it, where is Michelangelo? Isn't it his turn to make lunch?" Leonardo filed away Donatello's response as something-I-might-have-to-deal-with-later, and looked around the kitchen. "What's keeping him?"

"He's in his room, writing," Don leaned against the counter and cast dark looks at his empty coffee pot, upside down and drying in the dish drainer. "Says he's too busy writing his last will and testament, and we should eat without him, because his life is over without his 'babies'."

"Oh, for the love of..." Leonardo shoved the cereal boxes into a cabinet that he had already labeled 'Forbidden Foods for MICHELANGELO' in his best handwriting, and headed out to put a stop to his little brother's drama. As he was leaving, he tossed over his shoulder: "Donnie, eat something, you'll feel better. Raph, you, too - this isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to any of us."

He pretended he didn't hear Raphael grumble, "So says the guy who doesn't hafta _dance_..."


	2. Chapter 2

_That first chapter was kind of short, so here's another one. Enjoy! _

_XOXO _

_Winnychan_

* * *

Splinter stepped behind him, and Raphael could hear the grimace in his voice as he said, "That is…an improvement, my son. Do you see now how important light and shadow is in a still life?"

Raphael went still, brush poised over the canvas; he was glad his father could not see his face. Far as he could tell, there was nothin' wrong with his earlier version. Who wanted to stare at a stupid bowl of fruit anyway? "More like 'boring life,'" he muttered under his breath, and continued adding to his 'art' in short, choppy strokes.

Splinter inhaled slowly, and Raph knew by the extreme calm with which he spoke that he was becoming frustrated. "There is value in stillness as much as action, Raphael. Life, too, requires balance."

"Yeah, an' art is about expression!" the turtle flashed, slashing his brush over the canvas with zero regard for the hapless fruit he was massacring. "So why do I gotta sit here an' paint this sh—crap!" He turned around to glare at his father. "You wanna see how I _feel_ about still life?" Boldly he reached into the paint, pressed his entire palm into the red, and slapped it to the canvas, smearing it downward. "There! That painting it clear enough for ya?"

Splinter stared at the blood-red handprint smeared across the clumsily drawn fruit, and clasped his paws behind his back. He cocked his head.

"Perhaps you have a point, Raphael. Conveyance of emotion is indeed the purpose of art." His lips pulled back in the barest of smiles. "Tomorrow, we will practice still life again—but not with paint. Tomorrow, I would like _you_ to select the arrangement—and then you will tell me what you wish others to see in it."

Raphael scowled, and looked away. Things were just getting better and better.

Dismissed at last, Raphael stomped out of his _sensei_'s room and across the living room. He managed not to startle too badly when he realized his big brother was laying listlessly on the couch. "S'up, Leo," he nodded.

"Oh, there's nothing going on," Leo said gloomily. He changed the channels on the TV with the remote that was wedged between his toes. The magazine that was spread open across his plastron couldn't possibly be read at that angle. "Just as ordered - nothing. at. all."

Raphael dropped into the armchair next to Leo's head and propped his elbows on his knees. "Leo, you gotta talk to Splinter. He'll listen to you, if you tell 'im we ain't learnin' anything with this stupid project of his!"

Leo gave a short bark of laughter. "You know that's not how it works, Raph! The students don't get to tell the teacher what to teach - I know you've heard him say that!"

At just that moment, Donatello drifted through the living room, one hand pressed to his temple. "Leo, the things...the TVs?...they're really loud. C'n you turn 'em, y'know...lower?" With that, he went on drifting out of the living room and into the kitchen. Raphael craned his neck and watched, speechless, as Don turned off the lights and proceeded to rummage clumsily in the cabinets in the dark.

Leo, brow furrowed with concern, started to get up.

"He's got a migraine," Michelangelo appeared out of the computer alcove and dropped onto the other end of the couch. "Leo, move your big feet!...Anyway, Donnie's got a migraine, and he's gonna feel like crap for a couple more days at least, while his body gets used to something other than the super-caffeinated lifestyle he gives it." He blinked at the twin stares of disbelief from his brothers. "What? I looked it up on the internet when Don started to get slow and stupid in practice this morning."

"Yeah, well, at least you _got_ to practice," Leo grumbled, sounding for all the world like an ordinary, petulant teenager. He lay back down and glared at some point on the high ceiling.

Michelangelo, on the other hand, sounded far more adult and serious. "Leo, you gotta talk to Splinter about this. We aren't learning anything."

"Why does everyone seem to think _I'm_ supposed to do something about this?" Leo asked irritably.

"Because you're more articulate," Raph said, jabbing a finger in the air. "And a lot less likely to shout," he added as an afterthought.

Mike's brows shot up at Raphael's response, and then his mouth widened in a sneer. "Picking up some new vocabulary in your art lessons, bro? You don't normally use words with more than two syllables."

"I'm picking up some new vocabulary, all right," the red-masked turtle grumbled. "_Gay_ vocabulary…"

Leonardo perked up immediately. "Like, what kind of stuff are you learning?"

Raphael opened his mouth. Mike covered it for him. "Dude, he's not supposed to do anything. No brain activity. 'Cause, y'know, we're trying to learn here."

Raph growled from behind Michelangelo's hand and took hold of his brother's wrist to rip it from his person. "Wash your hands, you little slov...rr..dirtbag," he corrected himself gruffly.

Leo's eyes widened. "Were you about to use the word 'sloven' in a sentence, Raph?"

"He's makin' me _read_ a _thesaurus!_" snarled Raph. "Who the hell reads a thesaurus?"

"If Splinter can make you say 'sloven,' maybe I'm willing to give it another try," Leo said, deadpan.

"Not me," said Don, rising like a zombie from the medicine cabinet. "If Raph's going to use two-syllable words, I want to be capable of enjoying it. By the way, Leo, he has officially gone too far. He pitched all our Excedrin. There is officially no caffeine in the lair, not even the hidden stuff. I didn't know he knew about Excedrin. It's like finding out your dad knows about Redtube."

"Not _exactly_ like that," said Leo.

"You can raid his stash of sencha," Mike offered up.

"Do you know how much green tea it takes to equal the caffeine of one cup of coffee?" Don's eyes narrowed a supremely indignant expression.

"More importantly," Leo said as he cast a glare at his nerdy brother, "that would be disobedience."

"That is not more important," mumbled Don, shaking several ibuprofen tablets into his hand.

"Raw almonds are _not_ like potato chips, even if you close your eyes," Mike noted woefully.

"Try cashews," Leo said automatically. "They're sweeter. Not like chips, but more junk foodie."

Mike stopped. "You're not supposed to help."

"Give 'im a break, Mikey," said Raph. "If anyone can wean you off crappy food, it's Leo."

"You said 'wean,'" Don pointed out.

Mike paused. "Leo?"

"God yes," Leo said with a sigh. "As long as you don't make me get up from the couch, I'll tell you everything I know."

"Awesome, bro!" Mike popped an almond into his mouth.

"But do something for me in return, okay?"

"Yeah?"

"Show Raph where you keep the spray paint and sidewalk chalk."

"I'm DONE with art, asshole," Raph grumped.

"Really?" Mike cocked his head to one side.

"Raph's taste in music didn't go over so well," Don informed them. "Master Splinter's got him writing poetry now."

"REALLY?" Mike widened his eyes. "Can I see it? Please please please can I see it?"

Donatello collapsed into a heap on one of the arm chairs and grumbled, "I bet it goes something like this:

_My slovenly brothers must wean_  
_Off of sugar, training, and caffeine_  
_Because our sensei is so very mean._  
_Being articulate sucks_  
_But it's better than yesterday's luck_  
_When I had to paint cute little ducks._

The end."

"Okay," Raph growled defensively. "That poem is CRAP compared to mine!"

"Wahahaha," Mike cackled so hard that he nearly fell off the armrest of the couch. "Dude! Now I've REALLY got to see it!"

"So do I," Leonardo decided, looking over with a grin.

Raph gave them all a furious look and stalked out of the room. He was intent on destroying his poem before any of them could find it.

Don slumped even further into the chair and tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. "When he told me I had to learn to live without 'chemical interference' " and his hands came up to make air-quotes, "do you think that _sensei_ meant I couldn't have aspirin, too?"

"He pitched everything he didn't want you to have, Don." Leonardo settled back down onto the couch with a sigh and flicked the magazine off of his plastron.

"Besides, you already took 'em," Mike pointed out helpfully.

"That was _not_ aspirin," Don huffed. "It was ibuprofen, which has a completely different chemical composition and creates completely different effects in the...ah, forget it," he surged to his feet, eyes half-shut with pain. "I'll be in my room, dying, if anyone needs me."

"I'll be in Raph's room, torturing him, if anyone needs _me_!" Michelangelo decided. He got to his feet, too, albeit more gracefully.

"Mikey," Leo said, seriously.

Mike glanced back over his shoulder, a questioning expression in his eyes.

"I'm pretty sure that rescuing you when Raph gets annoyed enough to flush you down the toilet counts as 'work', and so I won't be able to help you," Leo warned.


	3. Chapter 3

"Psssst!" Michelangelo leaned in close. "Hey Leo! Get up!"

Leonardo, once among the first to rise every morning, blinked fuzzily at his entirely too bright-eyed brother. He grimaced, and pressed his face back into his pillow. Not like there was really anything to get up for these days.

"Leo!" Mike prodded him. "Trust me bro, you don't wanna miss this."

"Whatizzit?" Leo mumbled into his pillow.

"Dude. Three days of art, two days of music—I'm sure this is it! This morning, he _must_ be starting dance!"

Leonardo remained still for another two seconds, then slowly peeled himself out of bed, a smile forming on his face. Now _this_ was worth getting up for. "Did you get Don up yet? He won't want to miss this, either."

Mike crinkled his brow a little, looking slightly puzzled. "Actually, Donnie was up before I was this morning. Working in his lab, I think—even muttering to himself like a mad scientist. Haven't seen him like this since…" Mike met Leo's eyes. "Do you think he, um, broke the rules?"

Leo shrugged. "It's possible. It's also possible that it's been days since he's had caffeine and he's passed the worst of the withdrawal symptoms. Maybe he's functioning like a normal, non-caffeinated person."

"A normal person is non-caffeinated?" Michelangelo peered at him with an odd look. "Leo, trust me. There is a reason Starbucks is the single most successful franchise in the United States."

"Normal as in untain-" Leo stopped and blinked. "Really?"

"I dunno, maybe it is. I'm pretty sure it's close to it, anyway."

"Making up statistics doesn't make you right, Mikey."

"The point is it's FAJIBULOUSLY popular." Mikey paused, reconsidering. "Maybe not THAT word. Did you know eighty-six percent of the words in the English language were made up on the spot?"

Leo sighed. "Are we gonna crash Raph's dance revolution or not?"

"Right!" Mike's entire face lit up. He grabbed his brother by the elbow and tore down to the dojo.

The trouble was that the only person waiting there was a very irritated Splinter. Raphael was nowhere to be found.

"It's not a bathroom break," Donatello announced, slinking into the room behind them. "I'm pretty sure he's gone."

"Could be a case of the munchies?" Mike was still acclimating himself to the conversation, but that didn't stop him from throwing his two cents in.

"Nope. I checked the kitchen. Plus, I just saw him at breakfast! He was sitting right across from me, shoveling cereal into his face. He was done before me and when he left the table, I thought he was heading to the dojo."

"If that's true," Leonardo said, speaking up at last, "then he couldn't have gone very far."

The turtles glanced at one another, then looked up at their _sensei_.

"Stay here," Master Splinter ordered them all with a sigh. "All of you. I will find your brother and bring him back to us."

* * *

"Here you are," the old rat murmured at long last. "My son, I have been combing the sewers for hours-"

"I ain't going back!" Raphael fumed. "I ain't dancing. Why should I have to? It's the stupidest lesson I ever heard of!"

"That is your opinion," Splinter said more sharply. "I myself find dance to be a fascinating form of expression. It does not have to be - unmanly, for lack of a better term. And if that is your fear-"

"POETRY!" Raphael exploded, parting his hands and looking skyward. "Now THAT is unmanly. An' my FEAR is that those assholes already got the dojo rigged up with hidden cameras! They're just - laughin' it up!"

"Watch your language, Raphael."

"Sorry, those... jerks I call brothers!"

"I'm sure they would NEVER-"

"They stole my poem!" he boomed, coming to the real reason for his outrage. "Can you believe THAT?"

Master Splinter regarded him silently.

Raphael shuddered and turned to stare down the length of sewer tunnel stretching into darkness ahead of him. He seemed to be making a visible effort to redirect his anger. When he spoke again, his voice was small and pained. "I can't believe I just LEFT it on that pad of paper you had me using the other day. I went to get it, but somebody - somebody musta tore it out. God, they're probably passing it around and cracking up over how gay it is, this very second!"

Finally the rat placed a tentative hand on the turtle's shoulder. "Raphael. I was the one who stole your poem," he confessed finally. "I could not allow you to destroy it."

"You... why?" Raphael turned in dismay.

"It was..." Splinter's face wrinkled with many creases. "My son, it was beautiful."

Raphael lifted his eyes and, with humility, quickly lowered them. "Didn't rhyme or nothing," he pointed out, feeling his cheeks grow hot.

"For this, I love it even better!" Splinter murmured, his lips curling wryly above his long teeth. "I did overhear that rhyming poem composed by your brother Donatello earlier."

"That poem of his sucked, didn't it?" Raphael grinned.

"Indeed," Splinter shared his son's grin, but only briefly. Then his eyes clouded and grew very thoughtful. "I have been thinking that perhaps you will not have to dance after all."

"Seriously?" Raphael shot him a hopeful glance.

"Seriously," his master agreed, but his tone became somber as he went on. "I am also beginning to fear that this lesson was ill-conceived. I believe it to be a sign when all four of you fail one of my lessons, and I am ashamed. Yoshi would say such a failure speaks less to the students and more to the teacher."

"We're all failing?" Raph blurted. He felt an unexpected lurch in his chest, which was weird. He had never been one to beat himself up over failing lessons. That was Leo's schtick. But the truth was that he had tried hard to do a good job when writing his stupid little poem.

"You came the closest to passing," Splinter admitted with a regretful smile. "This is not to say you have been without complaint. But until today, you have risen to every challenge I have put in front of you. Meanwhile, your brothers Donatello and Michelangelo have already failed. Now even Leonardo's behavior has become bitter and unacceptable. It is not like him to be closed-minded to the purpose of an exercise..."

"Hey, I'm not gonna argue about Don and Leo. But how come Mike already failed? Seems to me like he's been doing real good!"

"There is a treasure cache of candy in his room. Late at night I can hear his will give out, and then the crunching and the rattling of wrappers."

"Dang."

They sat in silence for a time. Finally Raphael asked, "Well... what KIND of dancing?"

"I am pleased you have asked!" the old rat smiled. "There is a story I watch-"

"Is it a REALITY show?" Raph wondered, immediately dubious.

"Well," Splinter faltered, which meant that it was.

"Oh, man!" Raphael flopped backwards to lie on his shell. He draped his arms over his face and groaned, "I knew it. This is gonna be Dancing With The Stars. And the part of the Stars will be played by my dad."

"No! That is _not _the show, my son. Listen. The style I have seen on this show, which I would like you to attempt, is called: B-Boy."

Raphael sat up again to stare at his _sensei_ with new understanding. "You want me to break for you."

"I believe so? Really, I find all of the hip-hop styles very exciting. Perhaps not krumping. But b-boy, with spinning on the head and elbows. It requires precision, concentration, and strength!"

"You're talking about street dancing," the turtle translated slowly. "That's the kind of dancing you want me to practice for the next two days."

Splinter's whiskers twitched as he thought about it. "Yes?"

"All right, Master Splinter," Raphael agreed, getting to his feet. "Count me in."


	4. Chapter 4

Splinter hadn't been gone two minutes before Don drifted toward the door. "I'll be right back!"

"Donatello, he told us to stay here," Leo said sharply.

Though he barely paused his steps, Don's eye-roll was still obvious. "Please, Leo, just because you've been dying to get in the dojo for the last five days, that doesn't mean the rest of us are as anxious to spend time in here. _I've_ been in here every day, remember?" And he was gone.

Leonardo bristled. "I'll get him back in here," he said in his most chilling tone.

Before he could go two steps, Michelangelo's hand on his arm stopped him. "Dude. Let 'im go. I have a sneaking suspicion that The Wrath of Splinter will take care of this all by itself. Besides, if you go after him and drag him back here, doesn't that count as 'work'?" And he gave what should have been a wide and disarming smile...except that it let Leo see, for the first time, the way chocolate had left a smudge in the corner of his brother's mouth.

"You're cheating." It came out like it was something he wondered at. "You're not doing what _sensei_ told us to do, and neither is Don."

"'Neither is Don', what?" Donatello asked too quickly as he came back into the dojo. He glanced around without waiting for an answer. "They're not back yet? Okay, I gotta go look at something..." and then he was gone again.

"Unbelievable," Leo threw his hands up in the air. "He gave us a set of simple instructions, orders that even make our lives better, and neither one of you can follow -"

"Okay, you can get off that high horse any second now, Leo," Mike's voice was sharp. "It's not like you're getting into the swing of things, either."

Leo denied hotly, "I haven't been working - "

"Yeah, and you've been a whiny little brat the whole time, going on and on about how much your life sucks because of it!" Mike exploded.

"Takes one to know one!" Leo fired back, and he cringed inwardly at the words even as Mikey's face lit up in a world's biggest I-told-you-so grin. Leo scowled and turned away, overcome with shame at how he was behaving. Mike was right—he hadn't been working, but he hadn't been opening himself to the spirit of his Master's assignment, either. Worst of all, _Mikey_ was calling him out on it.

Leo sighed – a dismal and extremely self-pitying sigh – and he shifted restlessly and ignored his brother, who for once was smart enough to be quiet. Don came rushing back in a few minutes later, and Leo looked up.

"Don, what do you keep running off for?" he demanded.

"Nothing, don't worry about it," Donatello answered absently, and sat down only to rise again less than a minute later and skip off in the direction of his lab.

Leo let him go without protest this time. He thought about the last several days, how absolutely useless he'd felt, and how it was all going to be for nothing once Master Splinter caught on to the fact that the lesson he was trying to instill apparently hadn't sunken in. He sighed again. Was this it? Was this what it felt like to fail? "I've never failed before," he said quietly to himself.

"What?" Mike said.

Leo glanced over at him. "I've failed—we've all failed. Whatever grand lesson this was supposed to teach us, we've failed to grasp it."

"Bro," Mike said with a roll of his eyes, "No offense, but your task was, like, a piece of cake. I mean, you just got to do nothing! All day!"

"It's harder than you think!" Leo snapped in spite of himself.

"No, dude. No. It really isn't. You're just going about it the wrong way."

Leo snorted, but when he happened to glance up at his brother, he realized Mike was being completely serious.

"What do you mean," he said sourly.

Michelangelo blew out a frustrated breath. Then to Leo's surprise, he rose, and held out his hand. "I'll show you," he said.

"What?"

"Come with me," Mike repeated.

Leo glanced around the dojo. "But Master Splinter—"

"Leo," Mike cut him off. "Master Splinter went off looking for Raph. And Raph knew today was the day he started dance. Do you really think _Sensei_ is going to find him anytime soon?"

Michelangelo didn't use logic very often—or rather, didn't use logic that made sense to _other peopl_e very often—but Leo had to admit he had a point on this one. Slowly, almost grudgingly, he held out his hand, and Mike grasped it and pulled him up.

* * *

"Okay," Mike said after Leo was seated on the couch. "The first step is to get comfy." He stood over the couch and waited expectantly, and Leo squirmed a little in his seat in a pathetic attempt to look as though he was obeying. Mike's brows went up just a little. "Really?" he said, surveying his brother's stiff, upright posture.

"What?" Leonardo said. "I'm comfortable!"

Mike rolled his eyes skyward and eased out a breath. "Well you don't _look_ comfortable. Look, Leo – what do you normally do to relax?"

"You know what I do, Mike. You make fun of me for it all the time."

"Just humor me, bro. I'm trying to make a point, here."

Leo sighed. "Normally? I meditate. Or do katas. Sometimes I practice kanji."

Mike nodded. "Okay. And all of those things require, like, mega discipline, right?"

"So?" Leo said, sounding defensive.

"So what is it about those things that makes them relaxing to you?"

"I guess it's the, the…accomplishment of that discipline," he answered after a few moment's introspection.

Michelangelo beamed at him, and for the first time since Master Splinter had given their "assignment," Leo felt the warm thrill of having done something _right_. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

"So, you can't relax unless you feel like you've earned it." Still smiling, Mike leaned closer to him. "_That's_ your challenge."

"What?" Leo said, dismayed to hear a squeak in his voice.

"You need to learn it's _okay_ to JUST RELAX. And lucky for you, that's, like, one of my specialties." His smile broadened. "One of my many specialties. And I think I know how I can help you." He stood up straighter, and cleared his throat lightly before announcing imperiously, "Leonardo—today, I give you permission to relax."

Leo stared at him deadpan. "That's it?"

"Well, uh…" Mike scanned around the room, swiped a blanket from off of the couch and draped in over his shoulders so that it formed something like a baggy sleeve over his arms. "Pretend I'm Master Splinter." Then he clasped his hands in front of him, lifted his chin, and gazed sternly at his brother.

"I…can't do that," said Leonardo truthfully. He was too dumbfounded to even find the humor in his brother's impersonation.

Mike relaxed his stance, stepping out of character, then shrugged impartially. "Then you're right. You've failed."

Leonardo sputtered. "_What?_"

"You need to find a way to get to that relaxed state of mind without doing the other stuff first. If you can't give _yourself_ permission to do that yet, maybe someone else needs to."

The turtle in blue could only gape at him.

"Now do you want my help, or don't you?"

Leo hesitated for a second, but in the end it really wasn't much of a decision. He didn't have anything to lose, except continued failure. And Mikey was right about one thing—if he was master of anything, this was it. "Yes, I'd appreciate your help," he answered.

Mikey's face transformed once again into an easy smile. "Great. Then let's start over. Get comfy."

This time, Leo leaned back on the couch, and closed his eyes. He tried to remember a time when he'd felt particularly relaxed, and it didn't take much searching before he was back on his favorite strip of secluded beach in Costa Rica, stretched out in the sand after a long workout, letting the foamy surf froth around his toes as his eyes tracked the hermit crabs rolling sand balls by moonlight.

He drew in a deep breath and sank deeper into the couch cushions. The physical sensations were very different, of course, but it was the mental association he was going for. After putting his feet up on the coffee table, smooshing a throw pillow to create a squashy arm rest, and pulling a threadbare blanket partially over himself, he looked back up at Mikey. "I think I'm ready now."

"I think you are," his brother said. "You never do anything half-way, do you," Mike added with a teasing grin.

Since it obviously wasn't a question, Leo didn't bother with an answer. "What's next?" he asked, but his even his voice sounded relaxed for a change, completely without the usual demanding tone that would accompany such a question.

"Welllll…technically before you get comfy, you'd already have decided on TV, a movie, or video games, but since we're already past that, we'll just use the TV for practice." Mikey picked up the remote and sat down at the other end of the couch from Leo, flicking on the TV as he did so. He turned his face to the side to peer at Leonardo. "Now. Lately, when you've been watching TV, what have you been thinking?"

"…How bored I am," Leo answered honestly.

"But you can pick any show you want!" Mike blurted out. "If you're bored, why don't you just pick something else?"

"Because after a while it's like, what's the point, you know? I mean, even if I put on a show I think I might like, I'm just…bored with the whole thing. Of just sitting and doing nothing."

"You must be picking the wrong shows," Mike frowned. He was trying to see things from Leo's perspective, but it was difficult to imagine being bored with watching television. He lit up and began to suggest, growing more animated with every word, "Hey, have you seen that new zombie apocalypse series? It's based on an actual comic book, but they're staying really true to it, except for - well some parts happen totally different, but it still captures the - the SPIRIT of it, right? And-"

"Mikey, I don't think that's it. It doesn't matter which show. I certainly don't think exploding zombie heads are going to make me feel any less restless."

"Restless, huh? Now you're using words I understand. You probably feel like I feel after a really long This-One-Time-Master-Yoshi story, or after a Golden Girls marathon."

"Probably," Leonardo agreed. He puffed his cheeks and blew out a sigh.

"I get it now! We gotta come up with something active, Leo – something that is still just goofing off and not really training."

Leonardo frowned, considering it. "You think that's allowed?"

"Let's follow my usual tactic: assume it's allowed until somebody says it isn't."

"Great. And what do you suggest?"

Mike grinned wickedly. "Rooftop water balloon fight?"

Leonardo thought about it and finally decided, "Best idea I've heard all week. Let's go."


	5. Chapter 5

"No. Up, try again!"

"This trick is hard, Master Splinter!"

"Like this?" Master Splinter dove forward, somersaulted, and pushed himself up with one hand. He froze, feet splayed in different directions.

Raphael stared in amazement. Then he spluttered, "Sure, you make it look easy. But then, you ain't carrying an eighty pound shell on your back!"

"Hmph." Master Splinter let go of the freeze. "Excuses. Let's see if you can do _this_ one instead!"

* * *

Donatello studied his brothers critically. "There has GOT to be a more efficient way to do that."

"Got bored with playing with your chemistry set, Mr. Wizard?" Michelangelo shot back under his breath. He did not look up from where he was filling the kitchen sink with water balloons.

"That's...!" Donatello almost said more, but paused and visibly changed tack. "You know, I think I've got something that would help." He darted back out of the room.

Leonardo shut the water off, and in the quiet that followed they could hear their brother rummaging around on the shelves in his lab.

Mike paused and looked in that direction. "Dude, did you see that?"

"What?" Leonardo was struggling with a slippery knot on the neck of his balloon, and trying to concentrate on the idea of relaxing, and so had no energy for looking carefully at any of his brothers.

"His hands are shaking. Like when he's been up for too many days, and started pouring the coffee directly into his bloodstream." Mike dropped a half-filled balloon into the sink and opened the cabinets instead. "The coffee-maker's still dry. Where's he getting his fix?"

"Maybe he's got a stash Master Splinter didn't find?" Leo finally succeeded in tying off the knot and glanced in the direction of the lab. "Or maybe he's smuggled something in?"

Donatello returned to the kitchen at just that moment. "Here. It's set up - you should be able to fill three at a time with this." He shoved between his brothers and wedged an ungainly-looking homemade device under the faucet. "I use it to clean out test tubes. Here, put the ends of the balloons...y'know, you guys can figure this out, you're smart. I'll be back in a bit..." And then he was gone again.

"Er," Michelangelo gave the device a skeptical look. "Um...I think we were doing okay, Don, but..."

"I should talk to him, find out what he's doing," Leonardo shook the water off his hands and reached for a towel.

"Nonono!" Mike grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him back to the sink. "Dude, Leo, no. You're just getting the bare, teeny, baby-steps of this whole 'relaxing' thing down, don't blow it now! Keep working with me, feel the burn! You're so close to a breakthrough, I can feel it! You have Relaxing Greatness in you, grasshopper!"

* * *

"That is much better, Raphael," Splinter said with a nod. He walked over to a battered portable CD player and shut it off. "I think that is enough for today. We will practice again tomorrow, and—what is it?" he asked, noting the turtle's sudden frown at the mention of meeting again. "This is preferable to other forms of dance, is it not?"

"Yeah, it…it ain't the activity, Master Splinter, it's just…"

Splinter waited.

"When, um, when we practice tomorrow…does it have to be…in the dojo?"

The old rat's brows crinkled for a moment, but then he remembered what his son had said earlier about being recorded. "Ah, I see… you do not wish for your brothers to observe you."

Raphael's response was to simply meet his father's eyes for a moment before looking down.

"Practicing the arts is nothing for you to be ashamed of," Splinter said gently. "However… these tasks I have asked each of you to accomplish are only for yourselves. No one else." He waited for the turtle to look up again before he continued. "That is the beautiful thing about seeking your own personal balance. Whether others are impressed, or whether they see it at all, is not important. Neither is it crucial to master the task you have set for yourself. The important thing is the exercise itself, the attempt to move beyond your usual…comfort zone."

"Therefore," he continued evenly, "We may practice wherever you wish. I will leave it up to you."

* * *

"Donnie," Mike called, "Are you in here? We're almost done filling up enough balloons for Water Balloon War Three."

Nothing.

Mike studied the closed door. He'd already checked Donatello's lab and had been surprised to find it empty... almost mysteriously empty. After all the coming and going, Mike had expected to find something impressive, some experiment in progress. There was nothing impressive about Don's lab except for a colossal mess.

He tried knocking. "Maybe Raph's too busy being a ballerina, but there's no way you're bowing out. Come on, Donnie! You've got to defend your title!" Last time Donatello had pulverized them all with a water balloon launching minigun that strapped onto his shell and spat water balloons out of plastic tubes at a startling velocity.

Mike knocked again, but still no answer.

"I'm not invading your privacy or anything! Just making absolutely sure you're not in here!" the turtle clarified tentatively as he pushed Don's door open.

"What?" he heard Don's voice calling from somewhere downstairs. From the direction, it sounded like he might have been in the garage after all.

"Man. And you people say MY room reeks?" Mike paused at the sound of his brother, but he didn't back-peddle out of the bedroom. "Whoa..." he murmured.

Don's feet were pounding up the stairs now. Mike didn't move or try to hide. He continued to stare at the back of Don's room where plastic drop cloths had been draped like tablecloths over the mismatched pair of desks lining the western wall. Normally this area was a cluttered workspace, but all the notes, random tools, and spiral back manuals had been cleared away to make room for beakers and tubes, funnels and bubbling flasks, an unplugged hot plate. There was a fine layer of powder over much of the table's surface.

Mike turned slowly to face Donatello when his silhouette appeared in the frame of the door. "Don?" he blinked. "Did somebody replace your Folgers Crystals with a meth lab?"

"Wh- no! Of course not! I would never-" Donatello looked at the back of his room as if seeing it from a new perspective. "I decided to take your advice earlier," he explained weakly. "You know, about the tea leaves? I worked out a method of extraction..."

"MY advice?" Mike gaped. He gestured wildly at the mad science going on in the back of the room and blurted, "This meth lab is not my fault!"

"It's not a - will you calm down and lower your voice please?"

"No, I will not lower my voice!" Mike was painfully aware that he was, in fact, hissing his outrage like they were trying to squabble quietly. "You have completely and totally lost your mind, and worst of all - worst of _all_, Hamato Donatello! - you are trying to _blame it on me_!"

"Guys?" Leonardo's voice drifted up from the room below. "Are you coming? Or do I have to go throw all these balloons by myself?"

Michelangelo recognized the effort that his big brother had made to get his voice to sound light and playful, and closed his eyes. _He has to work at even that,_ he thought mournfully.

"I'm not blaming you!" Don insisted. He reached around and closed the door hastily, never taking his eyes off Michelangelo. "I'm telling you, it was a good idea! It took me a while to get the extraction process right, but now that I have, I could - "

"YOU!" Mike gritted. "You...you are the biggest CHEATER!" He was actually speechless at what he'd stumbled into.

"Me?" Don squeaked in his own outrage. "Me? You haven't exactly been a paragon of obedience yourself!"

"Guys?" Leonardo knocked on the door. And he didn't sound playful or light anymore - it was his_ I'm about to lead you on an exercise run whether you like it or not_ voice.

Don and Mike both jumped. They looked at the door, then each other, guiltily.

And then they moved as one to cover up the evidence in the back of the room. "Give us a minute, Leo!" Don called, his voice only one octave higher than usual. He swept one end of the drop cloth up over the mass of equipment on one table, while Mike did the same to the other.

"Yeah, Leo!" Mike 'accidentally' knocked over some things that looked fragile and necessary, glaring at Don the whole time. "I know he's got that water balloon gun-thingee in here somewhere!"

"I do not!" Don threw an evil look and a beaker at him. "I took that apart for repairs, and never got around to putting it back together again!"

"Okay, that's enough," Leo's voice was sharp enough to carry through the closed door.

Mike and Don scrabbled to sweep aside the last few suspicious looking items even as the door opened. Leonardo stood in the doorway, regarding them sternly. "What is going on?"

Michelangelo met Leo's eyes. "Do you _really_ want him to tell you?" he asked pointedly.

It was a test, and Leonardo knew it. He held Mike's eyes for a moment, then glanced at Don briefly before looking down with a sigh. "No. Let's just… go have fun."

Mike and Don exchanged a glance. Leo had said "go have fun" in the same way one might say, "get this over with."


	6. Chapter 6

_Wow, I'm blown away by all the positive feedback! The fandom has been so quiet lately, but the response we've received for this fic really warms my heart and kindles my hope that interest in TMNT is on the rise again. I can't wait for the Nickelodeon series to start so all of us TMNT fangirls & fanboys have new material to inspire us. _

_I'll be honest, the actual text of Raphael's poem was never included in the original final draft of this story. However, I was touched by all the people who expressed an interest in hearing it. Kinda makes me want to hear it, too! If you are still interested, please help me brainstorm some themes or ideas for the subject matter, or maybe even a few good lines you wouldn't mind letting me include in Raph's poem. Leave your creative responses in a review or a private message. Keep in mind that: 1) the poem cannot rhyme, 2) it has to have enough personal stuff and/or emotional expression that the thought of his brothers reading it embarasses the hell out of Raph, and 3) Splinter must be able to describe it as 'beautiful'. It would be so awesome to append it to the final chapter or make it part of an epilogue! _

_Anyway, this time we have a super-sized and action packed chapter for you guys... Hope you enjoy it!_

_XOXO_

_Winnychan_

* * *

"So let me get this straight. I don't want to have a water balloon fight, and Leo doesn't either, but we're going to anyway for Leo's sake," Don conversed in a low tone as he and Mike followed Leo up the rungs that would take them to a familiar set of rooftops: the battle-grounds where they had bravely fought Water Balloon Wars I and II.

"He needs this, Donnie!" Mike hissed, keeping his voice low and slowing his pace a bit so their prideful big brother would not overhear him. "Hell, maybe you need it, too. Water Balloon Wars are wicked fun, remember? I'm pretty sure you used to think they were. I seem to remember someone cackling like Dr. Evil and pelting us with freaking HUNDREDS of water balloons, like BAM-BAM-BAM!"

Don chuckled as Mike's description lead him to think back fondly on WBWII. "Three-hundred and thirty-two, fully loaded. Clocked at over 75 miles per hour... damn, it was a beautiful machine."

"It was a beautiful victory! So how come you are bitching about it this year, when Leo NEEDS you!" Mike's progress up the rungs came to a full halt as he tried to peer very sternly at his sibling.

"But I'm not PREPARED for Water Balloon War three!" Donatello returned quite sincerely, coming quickly to the root of his concern. "I spent _seven weeks_ building and testing that minigun. I didn't even think to bring any of my protective gear!"

"Don. I hate to be the one to break it to you, buddy. You looked like a major dweeb in that goggle helmet thing."

"So?" Don laughed. "That just made the win even sweeter. You guys got pulverized by a major dweeb."

"Listen, you can do it again!" Mike started up the ladder again. "I bet you don't NEED a fancy minigun or a stupid helmet. You know all kinds of unfair stuff about trajectories and mathematics and stuff. You'll beat us for the same reasons that you can beat us at pool most of the time. Isn't that right, Leo?"

Mike stopped abruptly. Don was paying enough attention to narrowly avoid bumping into his shell.

"Mike, why are you-?" Then he shifted to a one-handed grip and leaned out slightly, craning to see past his brother. "Oh," he concluded intelligently, scanning the rusty ladder of rungs the three of them had been climbing.

Leo wasn't there.

"Oh?" Mike repeated. "Oh? That's all you have to say?"

Still hanging off the ladder, Donatello gave him a one-shouldered shrug. "Well, what do you want me to say?"

"This is NOT good. This is really not good!"

"Stop being a drama queen," Don chastised. "He probably doesn't want to play with water balloons after all."

Michelangelo frowned and challenged, "Z'at what you think?" He was quite prepared to defend the awesomeness of Water Balloon Wars, having invented the game single-handedly.

"Does it really surprise you?" One of Don's cheeks scrunched to the side and his mouth twisted with amused disbelief. "We're talking about Leo."

Mike paused, thinking about it. He still seemed to be turning the idea over in his mind as he faced forward and began to climb the rungs. "Leo's not completely lame, you know. I mean, he's mostly lame. But then there are times when he's incredibly awesome. This could BE one of those times, Don! We just don't know."

"You're right. He did get fed up and ditch us without a word of explanation," Don muttered. "Maybe soon he'll be as awesome as Raph."

"Whoa, whoa!" Mike teased, not bothering to stop but flashing one of his patented face-splitting grins over one shoulder as he cautioned, "Don't be hasty, now. Nobody except Chuck Norris gets to be cooler than Raph."

"Right. What was I thinking," Don agreed with heavy snark. "The thing is, Mikey - Leo struck me as kind of a stick in the mud for the first two water balloon wars. He played along, but he really wasn't there to have fun so much as supervise the rest of us. He was keeping a close eye on our surroundings, making sure nobody got killed or wound up on the news… you know, his usual shtick."

"Was he really?" Mike wondered, coming to another sharp halt. "When I suggested a water balloon war, he said - he acted like he wanted to."

Donatello blinked at Mike.

Mike looked away quickly and faced forward to climb.

They climbed in silence for several stories.

Now Don felt bad. "You really didn't know," he realized. "Did you? I guess I was partnered with Leo for the first Water Balloon War. And for most of the second one..."

"We were all kind of busy being pulverized by you." Michelangelo concluded quietly. "Leo included. And... Leo hates losing. So maybe you do gotta point." He tossed a careless look over his shoulder to let Don know he was done moping. "But, y'know, on the other hand, what if you're wrong? _I_ still say he's determined to have a good time today. Cuz earlier, I was coaching him on how to do it, right? And now it's like a sacred oath between us. So what if he's playing, right this very second? And, well... if he's gonna have a good time, then obviously Leo has to be the one who dominates this time!"

"Obviously, huh?" Don repeated. He sounded rather dubious.

Mike reached the top of the roof and looked down at his brother. "And if he DID wanna dominate, it would be kinda easy at this point. Y'know, why?"

Genius that he was, Donatello didn't hesitate. "Because he was the one carrying all the water balloons?"

"Bingo," Mike agreed.

Don reached the rooftop and looked around uncertainly. "No sign of him."

"Dude, check it out!" Mike gaped and pointed. "Is that water tower on fire?"

"It - the structure is made of metal. There's no way-" Donatello squinted and realized, "Our bags! Hanging from something - come on!" The turtles broke into a run.

"Your bag isn't going to make it," Don huffed. "It's a lot more flammable!"

Mike grit his teeth and shot forward, giving it his all. He leaped off the building and caught himself on the metal ledge just in time to watch the strap on one of the bags snap. His sack of water balloons plummeted to the concrete and created a small wet explosion as it landed. He moved swiftly towards the remaining bag, gripping the ledge arm over arm. Each new handhold sent a shower of rust flakes spilling down onto his head and shoulders. Mike failed to rescue Don's water balloons on the first swipe, mostly due to the tiny home-made flare that jammed between two metal joints a bit higher up on the tower and spitting colorful sparks everywhere.

"Ow," he complained, shifting to hang from one arm so he could shake the singed one.

"You baby," Donatello smirked. "Knock it down with your chucks!"

Mike followed this advice with favorable results. The firecracker went out as it landed in the puddle of wet rubber and blackened fabric that had been Mike's knapsack of water balloons. Donatello came over to study it immediately and confirmed, "Definitely our brother showing off his _kayakujutsu_."

"Kaboomjutsu!" Mike crooned as he jumped to the ground. He held the bag out to Don.

"You're cheerful for someone with hardly any water balloons," Don noted. He held out the three that had survived the drop.

"But - I saved them!" Mike pointed out, looking at Don's rescued bag. He turned big blinking eyes at Don. "You're going to share with me, right bro? We're teammates now. And that was an intolerable act of WAR! I demand justice!"

"Fine. We'll split them evenly," Donatello agreed with a sigh. He got onto his knees and began to sort through the bag, counting the balloons into two piles. "What are war buddies for?"

"Awesome! Hey, can I also borrow your messenger bag?"

"What?" Donatello clutched the smaller bag protectively. He hardly ever left the house without his bag of tricks.

"Come on, Donnie!" he whined. "What else am I gonna put my water balloons in? My backpack is toast, literally!"

"You know, I think I've got some electrical tape in here somewhere," the other turtle was mumbling, pawing through the bag at his hip. "You can repair pretty much anything with-" Don stopped when he saw Mike pick up the soggy, blackened remains and hold it up pointedly with pinched fingers. "Yeah, maybe you're right," he admitted with a flinch. "Okay, so - nevermind. Just, crud. Give me a moment to make some room." He'd been wearing the messenger bag on a long strap that ran diagonally across his chest. Now he pulled it over his head and sat it down in front of him to hastily root through the contents. Donatello wound up pulling out a battered notebook, a flash light, a small change purse, a stack of triangular devices that Mike recognized as small stick-and-run explosives, followed by some kind of modified iPad knock-off.

Mike's eyes widened at the growing pile. "You're just going to leave that stuff here?"

"I'll just have to come back for it," Don snapped, shoving the messenger bag to Mike. "I'm not going to leave these things at the bottom of a bag that you want to fill with water balloons! What if they leak? What if Leo-!"

"Switch to decaf, dude!" Mike suggested sullenly as he took it and slung it over one shoulder. "Oh, my bad. You prolly didn't cook any."

Don blinked at Mike and was speechless for several beats. Then the other turtle got to his feet and positioned himself directly in front of Mike and seized him gently by the shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, quiet and severe.

The way he said it made Mike look at him in surprise.

"I got so wrapped up in working out how to do it," he said, forcing himself to continue. "I didn't think about - about how it would look. Or what it might mean." The younger turtle's apparent eagerness to hear a full confession made Don flush and look at the ground with shame. "I didn't think," he concluded with a defensive shoulder-hunch. He didn't want to elaborate further and peeked up experimentally, hoping what he had already said was enough.

"Daww! Come here, you!" Mike was the only one who got away with invading his personal space like this. He threw both arms around Donatello and gave him a hokey shell pat. "I'll stop being a dick about it, kay?" he promised. Don shied away at the first opportunity, deeply embarrassed, but nonetheless comforted by the exchange. "I mean, I'll try my very best," Michelangelo went on, grinning. "There might still be jokes now and then about Donnie and his easy bake meth lab. Just, not around Leo."

There was a quiet rattle near their feet, like gravel skittering on concrete, which Donatello caught and Michelangelo did not. "Mikey...!" Donatello's voice rose with genuine warning.

"I'm just saying, in case something slips out - HOLY SMOKES!"

He finally spotted the smoke curling up from several points on the ground, forming a circle that roughly surrounded around them. Donatello counted aloud as he scanned the ground in front of them, then behind them, "Four - make that six smoke bombs!"

"I still don't see him!" Mike wailed, his head whipping in random directions, trying to catch glimpse of his brother's telltale silhouette.

Don reached up and slid his bo staff from its holster with slow purpose. "Mike... we either scram or we wind up blind-fighting."

"Blind-fighting?" Mike repeated in a small voice. "Just you and me? Versus Leo?"

Donatello gave him a single, grave nod. "Exactly."

"Bwahh! Run for your lives!" Mike's escape from the growing cloud of blue-grey smoke was not a manly feat to behold.

It was Donatello who covered their escape, moving steadily backwards and holding his bo staff grimly aloft. He was scanning for incoming missiles as soon as he was clear enough to see again. He managed to duck the first water balloon due to this diligence, and swung his bo staff to solidly connect with the second. It burst upon impact and drenched him with water, but that did not matter. By the rules of this game, it was a fair block.

He barely had time to bring his staff up in front of him again when he suddenly realized that the next assault was not a balloon. Leonardo himself had jumped off the top of the water tower and was hurtling towards him at a blinding speed. And then he was flying backwards from a well placed kick and skidding towards the roof's edge before he could register what was happening.

Donatello whipped his body into a less aerodynamic position as soon as he could gather his senses. As he skidded to a halt, two more water balloons sailed through the air and slammed into him. Both were direct hits. He soaked one in the shoulder, and the second was a head shot with enough force to feel like a slug to the cheek.

Mike fell back, but he was too late to offer any defense. He slung three water balloons at Leo but didn't properly calculate how quickly his brother was moving; all three were half a beat too late to find their mark. Whipping out a _nunchaku_, he spun it in one hand while hefting a water balloon in the other. But by that time, Leonardo had vanished back into what was now a very dense cloud of smoke.

Mike was winding up to fling one of his water balloons into the cloud but Donatello's hand shot out to stop him. "Don't waste ammunition," he advised. "You've got zero visibility."

"I've also got dumb luck," Mike suggested boldly, rearing his arm to throw. "Wouldn't be the first time!"

The water balloon sailed through the obscuring cloud in silence for too many seconds before exploding wetly against concrete somewhere on the other side.

Don didn't say anything. He just gave Mike one of those looks.

Mike bared his teeth in a sheepish cringe. His hand slipped back into the bag and came out with another water balloon. "Best two out of three?"

Don swiped the balloon in a quick gesture and said, "He isn't THERE anymore, Mike! See how steadily the smoke is rising now? See how the circumference of the cloud is thinner, how much fatter the cloud is floating over our heads... it's because there's nothing in there right now stirring up the air currents."

"So what you're saying is... _Ninja Vanish_?"

"Ninja Vanish indeed," his brother agreed gravely. He handed Mike's balloon back and added, "But don't take my word for it."

Donatello brought the bo staff up and began to swing it in front of him. Both of his strong and dexterous hands worked like two parts of one machine to whip the staff in ever faster circles.

There was no immediate effect, but it was enough to cause the column of smoke to lean heavily to one side and disperse more quickly than it had been. As the staff blurred in front of him, Don steadily advanced on the cloud until it was enough to reveal one of the nearest smoke bombs. He lowered the whirling bo, dipping at the knees smoothly and dipping low enough to nick the clay sphere that was still hissing and pouring smoke. It went sailing out of sight and made a fine arc, rising into the sky as if struck by a rooftop golfer whose balls left a blazing trail of blue smoke.

The process was repeated several times, until all the bombs were eliminated and Michelangelo was prompted to 'help' his teammate by calling out "FORE!" and then segueing smoothly into Tiger Woods jokes.

It wasn't helpful, really - but Don seemed to enjoy his contribution. When the job was done, he sheathed his bo staff with an unnecessary flourish that was at odds with the embarrassed flush framing his grin. His point had been proven by now: Leo was plainly absent.

But one of Mike's points had also been proven. It was clear beyond all doubt now that Leonardo had thrown himself into playing their game. _There's fun to be had in this water balloon fight after all,_ he reflected as he tore his gaze from Mike to scan the rooftops. He would be wisest to set his mind to predicting Leo's next most likely points of attack.

"Maybe he's back up on the water tower?" Mike suggested from somewhere behind him, sounding just a little spooked.

"Too obvious," Don frowned, moving in a slow circle as he continued his methodical survey of the surrounding rooftops, paying special attention to ledges and potential window perches above them. "We could circle and flank him too easily. Plus, Leo isn't the sort to come at us from the same place twice."

"He'd rather show off and potentially scare the piss out of us."

Donatello didn't care to risk agreeing with words, but flashed his brother a quick, affirming grin.

Then it was back to studying all the possible exit points that Leo could have potentially reached in a single jump or two. There really weren't many options, which was in their favor. _Unless..._

The thing that kept nagging him was a subtle yet worrisome sound he may have heard right after losing sight of Leo. It had been right as Mike had been boasting of his intention to hit Leonardo with nothing but dumb luck. A very soft scrape, metal dragging on concrete, cut short with a distinctive 'shink'! It might have come from Leo's katana. Maybe, while he was blinded by the smoke cloud, he let the blade brush against something concrete?

Dendrites crackled and finally connected. A line twitched between Donatello's brow ridges._ Grappling hook._ Raising his gaze to take in their surroundings from a broad perspective, Don immediately spied many possible ledges, the lips of several brick balconies, and even a stately pair of weather-worn gargoyles which were in conceivable throwing range from where they stood. "Crud," he realized with a grimace. "He really could be anywhere!"

"Uh-huh," Mike agreed automatically.

His distracted tone made him sound like he was barely paying attention. Don turned fully to frown at his little brother, but his expression softened as he saw the other turtle frowning at the ground as if following some very serious line of thought.

"You know what's really kinda interesting?" Mike offered eventually, when he noticed Don looking at him. His brother didn't respond, but the ridge over his eye Spocked up to prompt him to continue. "When he came at us, Leo was gunning for you a whole lot more than me."

"What's interesting about that?" Donatello's featured settled back into a mild frown. "I creamed him last time, three on one."

"Or maybe," Mike countered, hitching the side of his mouth sarcastically and stabbing a finger at the water tower, "it was because dude was hiding right up there, and overheard our whole stupid conversation."

He locked gazes with his brother for several beats. "Shit," Don finally said.

His eyes broke from Mike's and he suddenly dove into the dissipating cloud of smoke. Mike trailed after him and came to hover over his shoulder. He watched Donatello root quickly through his meager pile of his belongings, those items which had been too precious to leave in the bottom of his re-purposed messenger bag.

"Something went missing?" Michelangelo prompted with open interest.

Don was no longer rooting though the items. He was sitting in a crouch, his bo staff pinched against his thighs and his hands closed in empty fists. "Coin purse," he said very quietly.

"Leo stole your lunch money?" Mike giggled at the thought. Then he sobered as he realized, "Not money at all."

"No," Don admitted without looking at him.

"Our little brother has better instincts than you give him credit for, Donnie-chan," a supremely smug voice called from somewhere above them.

Both turtles raised their gazes slowly to see Leonardo standing on top of the water tower. He tossed the coin purse into the air and caught it deftly, ultra casual. There was a battered backpack at his feet that was unzipped and packed with water balloons, but he was ignoring it in favor of this new trophy of war.

"Leo," Don began. His voice came out strangled.

It was too late. Leonardo squeezed the opening of the pouch and withdrew a plastic baggie with slow demonstration. Off-white powder had been packed and twisted to make a small carrot in one corner. The coin purse was tossed over the edge of the tower carelessly and he leveled a cool gaze at his brothers. "Tell me you didn't take this off some criminal," he said with quiet distaste.

Donatello blanched and stammered, "I - geez, I would never!"

Leonardo wasn't looking at him any longer. He was untwisting the bag and pulling the mouth open to study the powder at close range.

"Tea leaves, dude!" Mike stepped forward and made a brave effort to rescue his caffeine-junkie brother. "He figured out some kind of, uh, extraction process. You know, the whole thing's basically my fault! Remember the other day when I suggested- wow."

Michelangelo stopped short as Leo began to lift the plastic baggie up to his mouth.

_Not his mouth_, Mike realized. Leo bent forward and used both hands to seal the edges of the bag against his face - particularly, surrounding his small slitted nostrils - and breathed deep.

Donatello's mouth dropped open in amazement. Mike continued to stare.

Leonardo jerked upright and blinked, sniffling and clearly taken aback by the bitter taste that immediately began pouring down the back of his throat. He used the back of his hand to scrub white powder off the downward slope of his beak casually.

"Whoa!" Mike whirled to ask Don, "Is that how YOU normally do it?"

Don didn't take his eyes off Leo. He slowly shook his head. "No," he mumbled, his words stumbling with disbelief. "Orally. It's already so concentrated. There were were empty capsules in there. At the bottom of the coin purse."

"Huh." Leonardo blinked again and gave them a brilliant smile. "Think it'll still work?"

"Uh, yes." Don didn't really have to think about that one. "At a whopping… seventy to eighty percent blood absorption rate?"

"What the heck does THAT mean?" Mike looked up at their big brother with concern. "Is he going to pass out or something? How're ya feeling, Leo?"

Leonardo didn't answer right away. He had upended the plastic baggie, spilling caffeine powder to the wind. It billowed out of the bag and dispersed in the same light wind that was whipping his bandanna. Their oldest brother had a knack for striking epic poses and this was one of them. "I feel GREAT," he told them.

"You feel high," Don translated.

"Whatever you say, Doc. Let's not get all wound up over a caffeine buzz." Leo favored him with a crooked grin. "I'm just here to have fun, remember?"

Mike decided it might be more productive to direct his chief concern at Donatello. "Seriously, Don. He's not gonna die, right?"

"No," Don guessed. He retreated a step and repositioned his hands more securely on his bo staff. "But we might."

After stuffing the empty plastic bag into a side pocket of his bag (Leonardo might be willing to snort Don's mysterious powders, but he was no litterbug), the turtle on the tower withdrew a single water balloon and a supple length of leather that Donatello had never seen before. Immediately he suspected that this was how Leo had flung water balloons at him with such impressive force.

Sure enough, Leonardo confirmed it. He loaded the water balloon into what turned out to be leather sling, whipping it in a blurring circle as he casually explained, "The sling was my weapon of choice for long-range combat during my travels abroad. It was silent. Easy to carry."

Don got his bo up in time, but just barely. It was a messy deflection that left his knuckles stinging.

"I'll give you that one," Leonardo called, cocky and skeptical. He was already loading the next balloon into his sling. "How many lives left, Don?"

Donatello glared and thought: _Are you kidding me? You know exactly how many._ No one was better at keeping score than Leo. But it was one of Mike's Official Rules of Water Balloon Warfare. You had to be honest about how many lives you had left. "Three," Don called through his teeth, just as Mike opened his mouth to remind Don of this.

"Well, little brother," Leonardo produced a throwing dagger in his off hand and gave Don a terrifying, maniac smile, "you're about to lose a lot more lives than that."


	7. Chapter 7

_Here it is... the grand conclusion. Thanks for reading, everyone! - __XOXO __Winnychan_

* * *

"Six."

"Six?" Raphael blinked up at his _sensei_. He was covered in sweat and his arms were shaking. "There's no way that was six."

"Six," Splinter assured him, looking very pleased. He held out a hand to Raph. "Six full seconds, eighty pounds of shell and all."

Raphael clasped his hand and pulled himself up, beaming. "Once I found my center, it was easy."

"Sure it was," Splinter agreed, hiding a smile as he reached up to clap his son's sweat-drenched shoulder as they made their way across the roof.

"Piece of cake," the turtle insisted, still panting softly. "But…uh," Raphael glanced over at his _sensei_ and broke into a huge grin, "we're done now, right?"

"We are done," the rat agreed, his smile growing warmer. "I'm am proud of your performance, Raphael. You are capable of incredible strength and precision; even before we began, this was not unknown to me. But it was your perseverance - your willingness to try, even when taken far outside of your comfort zone - that is what impresses me the most. Thank you for honoring my teachings and embracing the true spirit of this lesson. Come."

He did not wait for his son to summon a reaction, but squeezed the turtle's shoulder and took off at a sprint. He made a running leap that carried him to the top next building, and kept running after that. Exhausted though he was after the dancing lesson, the turtle scooped up the battered CD player by its handle and rallied himself for one more challenge. Bolstered by such heady praise, Raphael felt capable of anything. He would sprint the whole way home if Splinter wanted it so.

They might have done just that, but Splinter came upon a sight which drew him to a sudden halt. He snagged Raphael's arm and held him back, eyes wide with surprise.

Raphael followed his _sensei_'s gaze and startled at a silhouette which could only be one of his brothers dangling against a patch of bleached and smoggy sky. He was able to recognize the unmoving figure at a glance. Even from a distance, the shape of his frame and the shade of his skin was distinct after a lifetime of familiarity. "Donnie-!" His stomach twisted with a reactionary stab of panic. "Where - is it a trap?" He was already scanning the rooftops around them for members of the Foot or Purple Dragons.

"No," Splinter decided with authority. He took the CD player from Raphael and pointed with one long claw. His tone was deeply disapproving. "But anyone could see them hanging there. Quickly, go and cut them down."

_Them? _Raphael knew better than to stand around asking stupid questions when his master used that tone of voice, and hurried to obey. As he got closer, sure enough, Mike was hanging dangling from the same water tower on the opposite side.

As he closed the remaining distance, he began to see why their father wasn't worried about their enemies attacking. Actually he might have caught it sooner if he hadn't been so focused on looking up at the dangling turtles. But then he stepped in a puddle, and it was perfectly dry out so he looked down and finally noticed the ground. His brothers were completely surrounded in vivid bits of rubber. It was the rainbow-colored remains of... water balloons, he realized. Hundreds and hundreds of water balloons.

Donatello had scared him at first with his utter stillness and silence, but he wasn't hurt. Scraped up a bit, sure... bleeding from a cut here and there, a small one on his cheek and several more on his legs. He was hanging upside-down and his entire face was dark with blood rush, embarrassment, or both. Even as he was being cut free with a throwing star Raph had handy, Don remained silent and refused to meet his gaze.

"Raph! _Sensei__!_ Geez, am I glad to see you guys!" Mike called. He had been left to hang right-side up. One of his arms and one of his legs was lashed to the metal tower. He waved his free arm, positively cheerful by comparison.

"What the hell HAPPENED to you guys?" Raphael had to ask, in spite of Don's apparent suffering.

"You missed Water Balloon War Three. But don't feel bad, because it was only fun for about twenty minutes. After that it got soooo boring."

"Tied up with your own zip ties?" Raph mused, studying the plastic remains in one palm. "Don't you use these things to tie computer cables together?"

"And sometimes gangsters," Don agreed darkly. "Yes, they appear to be mine. Are you going to get Mike down too, or stand there gloating?"

"I'm not gloating," Raph insisted, even as he sprang up onto the tower and started to work on Mike's bindings. "I'm just the cavalry."

"Is that another word you learned in poetry class?" Don muttered under his breath.

"Enough!" Splinter's voice cracked like a whip. He set the CD player down and waited until Mike was fully released and on his feet before commanding, "Line up!"

The three turtles darted to obey, forming a well-practiced line in front of him.

The air was rife with tension as Splinter paced in front of them for several beats. Then he hollered, "LEONARDO! I said - LINE - UP!" He had barely finished speaking when Leonardo materialized, jumping down from a ledge and landing smoothly. He joined the others with an easygoing stroll.

Leo intended to keep an entirely straight face, of course. His father and _sensei_ was obviously displeased, and this was cause for considerable alarm normally. Already there was some creeping notion in the back of his mind that the full ramifications of his behavior were going to catch up to him. It would be soon, more than likely, if that steady glower of Master Splinter's meant anything. He should have felt terrible, or at least nervous. A good son would have been at least somewhat ashamed. But all Leonardo felt was GREAT. He felt drunk with total victory, giddy at the _sheer hilarity_ of it. There was a deep belly laugh beating birds wings on the inside of his ribcage. No, he mustn't. Above all things he mustn't do, Leonardo knew that he must not laugh!

He would have done it. He would have kept a straight face, except that half-way to his destination Raphael started clapping.

It wasn't mocking or sarcastic, either. Raph stepped forward and clapped in a way that he usually reserved for good plays when they were watching football together.

Leonardo managed not to laugh, but his face split with a grin that he could not have prevented if his life depended on it.

He didn't dare look in Splinter's direction, but ducked his shoulders and slowed his pace. He needed time to beat the ridiculous smile off his face before taking the proper position at the end of the lineup. His stony Bushido face was in place when he finally turned around, somehow, thank the Gods and Ancestors!

The outburst served to swivel Splinter's gaze briefly to level his displeasure at Raphael. But he was not severe enough to have Raph cowed into swift obedience, and wound down on its own soon enough to suit the rat. Ultimately, the disrespectful clapping was overlooked in favor of Splinter's original target. His black eyes bore into Leo.

The old rat did not appear to be fooled by the eldest turtle's seriousness for one moment. He leaned in and his nose twitched. Leonardo imagined that Master Splinter could smell his impudence squirming just beneath the surface of his calm.

"You... were near enough to watch over them," he said slowly, grudgingly favoring his usually well-behaved son with the benefit of the doubt.

"Hai, Master Splinter!" Leo chanted with the same automatic snap that they all used when training in the dojo. The old rat blinked, not expecting such a formal response. But after a moment's reflection, Leo's message was loud and clear. It was his way of announcing that he remembered their original purpose.

All of this was meant to be a lesson.

Splinter came to stand directly in front of Leonardo. "You left them hanging, helpless, weapons out of reach!" His accent grew heavier, as it always did when his words fell like angry blows. "Can you swear to me that you nevah took eyes from yoh brothers?

Would he get points for not flinching? Leonardo secretly hoped so. "Better than that, _sensei_. I circled the perimeter and kept a close look-out for anyone's approach. It's how I spotted your arrival well in advance." He bit back the urge to babble as he soon as he recognized it, and concluded his defense with a clipped promise: "I could have freed them in an instant, _sensei_."

Splinter stared at him. His face gave away nothing. "Why would you take such a risk to begin with?"

Leo closed his eyes for a moment. Then he looked up at his father and broke into the smile he had been working so hard to hide as he gave answer. "It was fun, Master Splinter. More fun than I've had in a really long time. I have no better reason."

He looked Splinter dead in the eye. It was the right answer. He was sure of it.

"You have passed the lesson," Splinter acknowledged with a sigh. "However, you are still in very hot water for knowingly placing your brothers in such danger! You will race home to the dojo this instant and count at least one-hundred pull-ups before I have walked through that door."

Leonardo did not manage to hide the pleasure which rushed onto his face at this news. "I'm allowed in the dojo?" The serious face was slapped back on for a moment and he used his Dojo Voice with some over-compensation, "Hai, my _sensei!_"

Splinter still tried to maintain a vague scowl, but much of the pretense was gone. "Lucky for you I find myself quite weary after Raphael's lessons. We shall be traveling slowly."

"_Sensei_?" Leo bobbed his head in an informal bow. "If I finish one hundred pull-ups, can I work on-?"

"One hundred pull-ups NOW," Splinter demanded, pointing and raising his brows. "RACE HOME! Before I make it two-hundred!"

Leonardo didn't hesitate, giving his master a deeper bow and taking off at a dead sprint. But as he ran, the oldest turtle was laughing, and called over one shoulder, "I can give you two hundred, _sensei!_ Just you wait! Maybe I'll give you three!"

Everyone watched him go.

* * *

Donatello was waiting for it when Splinter took a step forward to focus that inscrutable gaze upon him.

"You have failed this lesson, Donatello. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, Master Splinter," Don said. His gaze sank to the concrete and stayed there.

The rat lowered his whiskered nose and let his gaze roam pointedly over the rainbow-colored debris littering the rooftop before settling again upon the scraped and bleeding turtle. "And from the looks of things, you were _soundly_ beaten. Truly this was not your day for glory."

"So it would seem," Donatello agreed softly.

Splinter placed a clawed hand on the turtle's shoulder and felt the muscles grow tense beneath his touch. "Sometimes we learn more from failed lessons than successful ones," the old rat reminded him. It was one of those things he had been saying to them since they were children, but these words could still strike home on occasion, such was the truth in them. "I can only hope this is true for you right now. The chemistry which clutters your bedroom - disturbs me, Donatello."

"You're not alone there, Master Splinter," Mike mumbled. He shrugged when Don shot a glance at him. "Sorry, bro."

"You don't have to worry, Master Splinter," Don said with a grimace. "A lesson was learned. Perhaps Leo was onto something, all those times he tried to lecture me about moderation. Once we're home... I'll dismantle everything. I promise."

"Please see to it," Splinter nodded. "You are dismissed."

Don didn't take off running like Leo had. He only sagged with relief and shuffled over to the base of the water tower to gather the possessions he had left behind.

"Michelangelo," Splinter intoned, shifting his focus and coming to stand before his youngest son.

"Fail me too, _sensei!_" Mike cried, squeezing his eyes shut tight. "Go ahead. I deserve it!"

Splinter canted his head with owlish bewilderment. "Are you quite sure? I was about to say that you had passed. You embraced your restricted diet with more self control than I would have expected. All this week at meal times I have kept a very close watch-"

"Late at night," Mike whimpered, "there was Easter chocolate." He fell to his knees and declared with epic drama, "Master Splinter, I WAS WEAK!"

"Perhaps," Splinter allowed with the ghost of a smile.

Meanwhile, Raphael was gagging and muttering, "You gotta be kiddin' me. Easter, really? It's freaking AUGUST, man. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?"

The rat leaned in to speak with his youngest son conspiratorially. "Michelangelo, what do you think you would find primarily if you looked into our freezer?"

"Uh… left over birthday cake?" Mike guessed.

Master Splinter patted Michelangelo's shoulder. "Weak is a very strong word. I prefer to invoke the saying, 'all good things, in moderation'. So, instead of weak, let us say instead that you were _honest_. Let us say that, except for the briefest of slips, you displayed tremendous dedication. Furthermore I suspect that Leonardo only came to embrace the spirit of this lesson due to _your_ encouragement. It does not go unnoticed, my son. You have passed this lesson."

"Well," Mike grinned sheepishly, "if you say so. Thanks, Master Splinter."

Splinter grunted, "Dismissed."

Mike beamed to show he understood, but also opted to stick around. It seemed logical that Splinter would move on to discuss Raphael's performance. Since no one had been around to witness the painting, composing, and dancing, the verdict was still anyone's guess.

Raph could feel the keen interest of his brothers. An uncomfortable heat began to spread across his face and down his neck. But to his vast relief, Splinter merely patted his green shoulder and said, "Raphael is also dismissed, to spend the evening as he pleases. He and I had words already."

"Dibs on the shower," Raph decided with a grin.

"Yeah, I wasn't gonna say anythi- hurgh!" Mike quipped, but he was cut short when Raph elbowed him in the bridge.

Splinter eyed the siblings, ready to break them up if their behavior degenerated into an actual tussle. But Mike only groaned and clutched at his side. As Raphael began walking in the direction of the lair, he jerked a thumb over one shoulder and said, "Howzat for creative expression?"

* * *

The makeshift caffeine extraction lab was dismantled, exactly as promised. Afterward, Donatello put on a fedora, turned up the collar of his trench coat, and took the de-Carled van to the nearest Starbucks drive-thru to celebrate the end of a miserable week with a venti caramel frappuccino.

It was not that he refused to learn his lesson. Tomorrow, he would learn it for sure.

He drove aimlessly, but never recklessly, exploring New York City in the way he had always preferred: behind the anonymous safety of a darkened windshield and the shielding glare of city street lights. When the ramble was over, Don carried the empty Starbucks cup with him, for no other sake than stubborn pride. They were all indulging, after all. Mike had been attacking birthday cake with Splinter when he left. Leonardo had STILL been doing pull-ups, for Christ's sake.

In his mind, he dared any of his family to say one word about it. Shame only caught up to him when nobody did.

Donatello wound up standing in front of Master Splinter's trophy room. The severed heads of the Nightwatcher and Cowabunga Carl were staring at him. He could feel the ghosts of his brothers' mistakes glaring down at him from behind the mirrored faceplate and tracking him with empty cartoon eyes.

"I hear you," Don grumbled. He looked at the Starbucks cup in his hands and grimaced with self-depreciation before placing it on the shelf.


	8. POEM

_SURPRISE! Thanks to KameTerra, who responded to the challenge, we have a special bonus chapter: Raphael's poem. Without further ado, here is!_

_

* * *

_

**POEM**  
By Hamato Raphael

It was a pigeon—just a damned pigeon  
a "rat with wings"  
taken for granted at best, and persecuted at worst

They took turns throwing it up  
higher and higher  
when it landed, they all fought to be first to grab it  
as it jerked and fluttered feebly to avoid their grimy hands

And still there I was, hands balled into fists  
ready to blow my cover, expose myself in the fading light, risk the secrecy of my existence  
just to show those little assholes it ain't right to pick on another creature  
even if its weak  
even if it ain't nothing more than a dirty ball of feathers  
even if it's as good as dead already

Even if no one would miss it when it was gone

That night, the pigeon had a different savior  
a weedy looking kid in scuffed jeans and hair in his eyes  
a kid that didn't look like he could be anybody's hero, even a half-dead pigeon's

But the next time the feathery football went down, I swear to god he could've been a goddamn track star  
the way he sprinted and threw himself over that pathetic bundle of feathers  
and I won't lie—he took a good beating  
in the end, he didn't look much better than the poor bird  
but the other kids figured out he wasn't gonna give up  
and left him alone with his battered "prize"

Only it was too late for the pigeon

I watched him limp over to the cover of some shrubs and sit on a flat stone at the border  
mud coating his jeans  
a trickle of blood at his lip  
cradling that bird like it was a baby  
like it was his best friend  
stroking it, over and over  
until it took flight for the last time, leaving its crippled body behind

Then I watched that kid  
that scrawny, scruffy, no-account looking kid  
who looked like he'd never had no one to run to his rescue  
cry as he buried a worthless dead bird in the park

How's that for poetry?


End file.
